Frozen Ink
by Golumfryingeggs
Summary: Rorschach lingers... Spoilers for movie/comic.


Just a little something I could not get out of my head, I drew a picture of this a few days ago and then... it kinda bloomed into this.

Enjoy!

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Frozen Ink

Snow fell softly from the grey skies, touching down onto the frozen blood stained patch on the blanket f ice. The winds whipped softly at the broken man hunched silently over the few remains of his long partner and dear friend. Gloved hands clenched tightly and he watched silently as the man he'd known as Daniel charged back into the building, eyes burning and rage pounding in his chest.

"Hurm," he muttered, now starring at the blood stains himself. His fedora had fallen a few feet away, slowly disappearing in the snow. He mildly wondered if his companions would find it before it was lost completely. He couldn't say he cared particularly, his death had been rather... dramatic to say the least. Which is why he couldn't help but wonder why he was still... lingering.

Rorschach lifted a hand to scratch his head and froze. The tingling of coarse hair scathed through his glove like fire and a single memory burned into his skull.

He'd taken his face off.

He'd taken his face off and now it was gone.

He knew he was being silly, that he was dead, but it was his face, his identity who he was without question. Frantic eyes scanned the white snow, desperately searching for his sacred item.

_Where had it shot off to_? He couldn't remember!

_What if Jon had destroyed it_?

The growl in his throat suggested that if the blue man had done so then Rorschach would haunt his ass until the bastard killed himself for relief's sake. He stalked through the snow, eyes sharp and searching, inwardly praying that he would find it-

_There_!

He practically leapt for it, crashed into the snow and snatched up the icy latex with gloved hands. The ever moving ink blots frozen in the cold. He cradled it with both hands, holding it tight to his chest and almost crying with relief. He'd found his lifeline and identity. His world and his being.

"Alive..." he whispered, though unsure why, but felt it needed to be said aloud. Perhaps he felt alive, now that the fabric was in his possession once more. He knew he wasn't, but he felt it so vigorously it was hard to doubt. Hands went limp, the face rested now on his lap and he watched it in quiet fascination. No hurry to don it for now, the world was quiet and for a moment in time he could admire his face in solitude. The patterns marking his life on the white fabric, a face which had been the nightmare for all criminals, day and night.

His lips twitched into a small smile, it was a small fact he took great pride in but would never admit.

The smile faded suddenly, replaced by a frown. Something had entered his line of sight and was now hovering an inch or two above his face.

A butterfly.

Bad enough he was walking around when he should be dead, but finding a butterfly in freezing temperatures was just crazy. The little thing danced in the winds, its wings a soft pastel blue tipped with white. Almost completely transparent. It fluttered merrily on the wind and the savage primal instinct which had saved his life time and time again on the streets whispered to him urgently;

_Follow!_

So he did.

He clutched his mask tightly in his right hand and standing up he took a step towards the little thing. It flew off a little bit then lingered, beckoning him deeper into the snow. Rorschach took one last look at the few remains of his body before moving forwards, pressing down the urge try and climb back in. It wouldn't be much use anyway. He shook his head and then pressed forward. The winds howled, but he barely felt them. It seemed neither did the butterfly, it fluttered and flapped softly, almost carelessly guiding him step by step away from the building and his remains.

The white snow held a figure in the distance. Eyes narrowed to pick out the small frame, but it was nearly impossible with the continuous snow fall. He continued deeper in, the butterfly seeming to take him directly to the hunched form.

For a moment logic crept up on him and he couldn't help but feel a little silly. He was, what he could only imagine, a lingering spirit following a butterfly through a snow storm to an unidentifiable form in the middle of the arctic.

Rorschach could just imagine what Dan would have to say about this.

He closed in.

The small figure turned out to be a young girl, she was playing in the snow in a pink little dress, her blond-brown pig tails being softly whipped by the winds. He felt a strange recognition, as if he'd seen her before, but the feel of Déjà vu was soon pressed down by his paranoia and skepticism. He wasn't sure if he should make his presence known as she hadn't even noticed he was there yet. The butterfly seemed to read his uncertainty and landed on her left shoulder to get her attention.

She looked up. If he'd been alive then surely he would've died of a heart attack. He could only stare as the little girl smiled sweetly at him.

"Blair..." he whispered to the wailing winds as she rose from the snow and took a few tentative steps towards him.

The six year old girl stopped a mere foot in front of him. Her little pig tails lightly dancing in the winds and her sweet smile ever plastered on her face. She reached forwards with her left hand and he instinctively pulled away. He wanted to say she was dead, partly he wanted to scream at her to go away and another part wanted to break down and weep.

So instead, torn between words and emotion he stood back and watched her with a wary hawk eye.

Blair tilted her head and again reached forwards, catching hold of his right sleeve with the very tips of her fingers she pulled him minutely forwards. He looked down and instinctively he knew what she was asking. His face was held tightly in his hand, holding onto it like a life line, but she wanted him to let go.

But how could he?

It was his face.

He shook his head, but made no move to pull away.

So she held on, her patient smile starring up at him and his fearful eyes starring down at her. It should have been the other way around, he realised. He should have found her in that house, should have cooed her and spoken to her softly and she should have been terrified, but trusting of him.

Now everything was turned upside down. Inside out... just like him.

He stared down at his face. Still frozen from the lack of heat and he felt the sudden need to put it on and run and tear the world apart with his bare hands for being so twisted and wrong. He wanted to kill Adrian again and again and again until his arms ached, until his body gave in.

The anger boiled up, he was baring his teeth and a vicious growl emitted from his broken voice.

The world will pay.

Not for killing him, he was not that petty, but for taking a seemingly harmless planet and destroying it with politics and greed. He will tear them apart, one by one, every single one who'd ever beckoned that demon closer, or who turned a blind eye to the chaos it caused. They will die one by one and he will watch as they gasp their final breaths, his face the last thing _they will ever __**see**_-

The smallest pull brought him back and he shook his head before he stared down at the girl. This time her eyes_ were _fearful, almost terrified, but she didn't let go. She stared at him as if he was_ her _lifeline,_ like his face was his_, like she couldn't live nor breathe without him that she needed him more than he needed her.

_Like he needed his face._

The anger seeped away from him like a river in full flow. He stared at her, realizing then that he now had a chance to make right what he did wrong, what Walter had failed to do so long ago he could now finally bring to rest. _But what about the twisted world which needed to be righted_? He thought bitterly. _Who will fight to bring them back away from the edge_?

The world needed him!

His fists clenched around his mask, his own world torn into pieces, like his body splattered across the white snow. He closed his eyes tightly. The world needed Rorschach... not Walter.

So if he let go...

His eyes opened...

_I'd be Walter_.

He did smile reassuringly then and as he took her hand in his own and felt the reassuring warmth. He didn't feel fear nor uncertainty, because he could finally take her home.

Something he'd been waiting to do for over ten years.

* * *

Daniel walked out into the calming winds. He'd asked Laurie to hang back for a moment, she wasn't happy, stating she won't be held responsible for what she did to Adrian when he came back. But Dan only nodded.

He needed this moment alone.

The blood was halfway hidden in the snow by now. Almost gone, but not yet completely covered from sight. His eyes were glued to the stained ice, in his mind the final words of his partner and friend echoing over and over until he felt anger burning in his chest once more.

"Do it!"

_If the bastard hadn't been so stubborn_! He growled inwardly trying to bring his fury under control.

For a bitter moment he wished he'd joined him. Stood by his side like he'd always done, perhaps then they'd still be together still be partners.. Strangely enough he couldn't picture a world without Rorschach. He'd just always been there, always welcome, though sometimes a nuisance, but never unwanted. And right now he'd give anything just to hear the masked vigilante snipe at him for dawdling.

Or eat his sugar cubes...

...Or perhaps rob him of his canned goods.

He always had a few spares in the cupboard.

Tears stung his eyes at the realization that they would never be used, but he bit them away. He'd came out here with a purpose.

The fedora lay a little way away, almost completely lost in the snow, he stepped closer lightly and picked up the small hat. Resisting the burning desire to clutch it to his chest and cry out in misery.

Gods he missed him already.

He turned to leave, to get Laurie and head home before he committed suicide from sheer depression and shock.

But froze.

There was another set of prints in the snow.

At first he thought it could be his, but these were too old to be his and too fresh to be someones else's. Jon he didn't leave footprints. So he stood gaping like an idiot when an eerie thought slipped into his mind.

"Rorschach..." he whispered, not believing his ears, but trusting his gut. He tightened his grip on the fedora and charged off, following the prints leading deeper and deeper into the wintry landscape. The winds were much calmer now, but the cold still bit through his armor and exposed skin and for a moment he thought how the hell the man had held out in this freezing weather without shriveling up!

Daniel looked up and frowned, the footprints led to something in the snow, something white and black. He walked forwards cautiosly, the material covered in snowflakes, he reached forwards and picked it up.

Rorschach's mask stared back at him.

Part of him was egstatic for finding it... the other was on the brink of tears. If it had been him then he would never leave his mask, it was his... everything. _Had it even been Rorschach though_? He wondered bitterly. Perhaps his mind was just going bonkers from grief and exhaustion and shock. It could very well have been a bum, walking through the snow, it could have been a henchmen of Adrian, perhaps Jon _had_ decided to leave prints... it could have been anyone!

But somewhere deep inside his persistent gut he knew that it had been Rorschach. It... felt like him. Like when he would be working on Archie and then he would just feel him there, watching him. It was the same feeling, it was Rorschach. And when he finally looked up through eyes blurred with tears, he didn't see one trail... but two.

One larger, the other smaller, but walking side by side further and further into the white landscape.

He couldn't explain it and he would never tell anyone what he'd seen. But when he looked down at the mask, the ink frozen and unmoving in the cold he couldn't help but say the first thing that popped into mind;

"...pretty butterfly,"

And Laurie said the same.

End

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This little thing has been nagging at me to write it for some time! It just wouldn't budge! Never really has been my style to write these... 'other wordly' shite, but I hope it wasn't a complete waste of your time.

And if it was and you just lost the once chance to end world hunger...

...I'll give you a cookie?

insanely yours

gollumfryingeggs


End file.
